


Full Time Occupation

by orphan_account



Category: Glee
Genre: AU, Dubious Consent, M/M, Violence, mafia au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-13
Updated: 2012-09-13
Packaged: 2017-11-14 03:24:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/510809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mafia AU: <i>Kurt needs to be happy, needs to be safe, for Sebastian to do his job. Which is why Sebastian is taking time out of his hectic schedule to monitor Kurt and his security detail.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Full Time Occupation

Based on this prompt from the Glee Kink Meme. Thanks to jemima_oxford for the perfect beta.

***

Sebastian leans back and steeples his hands, the tips of his fingers touching his mouth. He’s facing a laptop - Apple, high-end - which is sitting like an island in the ocean of his post-modern style desk. 

The entire screen is filled with a live video feed from a camera looking down on two figures in a bedroom. The height of the camera makes the scene a nearly overhead shot. Most of the screen is filled by a bed, but Sebastian can still see a figure standing by the door in sentry. Karofsky. The second figure sits flipping a magazine in an armchair by the side of the bed, the jiggling foot at the end of his crossed leg betraying his otherwise casual and relaxed reading. _Kurt._

Sebastian can feel the frown on his own face, knows that if Kurt were with him right now, Kurt would press his thumb to the wrinkle between his eyes and say, _”Your face will stick that way, baby. Why so serious...ly handsome?”_ to lighten him up. 

Not many people are allowed to touch Sebastian. Kurt has full access.

Sebastian is a busy man. As his father looks towards semi-retirement, the head of the Smythe family has taken to “gifting” Sebastian with additional responsibility. It’s nothing Sebastian can’t handle, nothing he doesn’t _relish_ handling. But it’s time-consuming. A 24-hour a day job. And to deal with the stress of controlling the largest methamphetamine distribution network in the mid-east, Sebastian needs his personal life to be problem-free. He needs to come back to his penthouse in Chicago and be greeted by a contented lover. His Kurt, ready and waiting with a sympathetic and trustworthy ear, hands created by some supernatural force for giving perfect backrubs, and the sweetest ass Sebastian’s ever tasted.

Kurt needs to be happy, needs to be safe, for Sebastian to do his job. Which is why Sebastian is taking time out of his hectic schedule to monitor Kurt and his security detail.

The whole situation is...troubling. Sebastian runs a tight operation, vets his guys personally. Hand picks extremely over-qualified men to shadow and protect Kurt while he gets his toes done and lunches with his girlfriends. Guys who abide by the old code, who don’t blink when they learn Sebastian has a man squirrelled away, not a girl. They don’t blink because Sebastian is Connor Smythe’s son, and they know that loyalty to the family trumps any opinions they might have about Sebastian giving it to boys in the ass.

Which is why he had to learn about the situation from Finn. None of the other guys would have ever ratted Karofsky out. And Kurt... _Kurt_ is too soft, too sentimental and too fucking smart for his own good.

Finn stands behind Sebastian, nervously chewing a hangnail. Despite the ratting, Finn had been a good hire. Practically keeping it in the family. Not _too_ bright, but tough, quick, and loyal to a fault when it comes to Kurt. Probably doesn’t even realise the sanctity of his error in telling Sebastian about Karofsky’s behavior. Thinks that he’s looking out for his stepbrother, nothing more.

Kurt had been furious when Sebastian brought Finn on. At first he’d screamed at Finn, calling him a brainless moron, then he’d broken down and cried, begged with Finn to reconsider. Claimed it was a sorry waste of Finn’s potential and reeled off a creative and mostly accurate list of all the ways Finn could horrifically die. 

Then he turned to Sebastian. Sebastian had never seen such blazing emotion in Kurt’s face. It had been both intriguing and frightening. 

“How _could_ you?”

“It’s for the best.”

“The best what? The best way to keep me under your thumb?”

“The best way to keep you safe,” Sebastian has scoffed. “You’ll see. Finn is going to be a great addition to the team.”

Kurt’s mouth had dropped open like Sebastian had told him Finn was coming on as the Smythe family mascot. 

“I will _never_ forgive you for this,” he’d spat, before slamming his way out of the penthouse. Sebastian had sent Finn after him, right into the blaze of an epic Hummel-fit on his first day of the job. 

Finn adapted to a life of organized crime unsurprisingly well. It took very little to compel him. More time with his step-brother, pretty jewelry for his pretty wife, an apartment in the East Village, and security, if something happened to him. The Smythe’s would take better care of Rachel Berry-Hudson than a hundred payouts from the US military.

It took time, and many nights of scooping an agitated, sleepy Kurt up from the spare bedroom and putting him back in their bed, but eventually Kurt had come around. Stopped giving Sebastian his cold back whenever they were in the same room and put a hand on Sebastian’s chest, nails scraping through his shirt. 

“This isn’t forgiveness,” he’d growled, pushing Sebastian down on the bed and straddling his lap.

But Sebastian doesn’t need Kurt’s forgiveness. Just his acceptance of the fact Sebastian would do much worse than recruit Kurt’s family to keep him safe. Just his acceptance, and his reluctantly open arms, and his hands, and his vicious mouth, leaving toothy bruises on Sebastian’s skin.

Sebastian may be harsh, but he’s also fair. He’s not going to confront Karofsky on Finn’s word alone. Karofsky has been working for the family since he was a kid. Is a quick, uncompromising, and valuable guy to have in a confrontation, and the son to one of Connor Smythe’s most trusted men. For that alone he deserves the benefit of the doubt. And so far, he’s getting it. 

“Well Finn, they’ve been alone in a room together for 10 minutes and Dave hasn’t said a word. You absolutely sure about this?” 

“Yeah, Boss. I mean, just wait, ‘kay? I swear, he takes every chance he can to poke at Kurt.” 

Finn has a look of determination on his fresh face. Sebastian supposes that if Finn had some doubts, he’d be sweating. But no, he only looks worried on Kurt’s behalf, eyes glued to the screen, just as sticky as Sebastian’s. 

It’s a little odd to not be watching himself fuck Kurt through the high-def camera, which is why he’d had the thing installed in the first place. Sebastian has over 30 gigabytes of very loud and very graphic footage collected. Could probably make a Kama Sutra trilogy and then a fourth movie from all the recordings he’s amassed. 

Footage of sweaty, marathon, sheet-ripping, screaming sex. Slow, fun, teasing sex with Kurt roped to the headboard. Taking Kurt from behind, sometimes holding his hips and jutting into him like a machine. Sometimes covering his back and rolling long and measured and close while mouthing the sweet bend of Kurt’s neck. Fucking like a married couple, missionary and without ceremony, under the covers after a long day, more like an easy fuck goodnight. Kurt riding him, writhing on his cock, face tilted up unknowingly to the camera, mouth open, blissed out. On his hands and knees, backing onto Sebastian, rocking and keening while Sebastian watches his hard dick being swallowed by Kurt’s slicked up asshole. Kurt waking first and wriggling under the sheet, a bobbing collection of lumps until Sebastian fully awakes and pushes the sheet down his chest and over Kurt’s head, a smirk for the camera. 

Yet...his favorite clip by far is of Kurt alone, while Sebastian was away. 

Freshly showered, hair a damp, unmanaged tagle. Spread across the middle of the bed, fisting his pretty cock in one hand, the other playing with his ass, working two fingers up it. The professional grade mic had caught every sigh, every unabashed moan. Kurt, not knowing he was being recorded, fingering himself with a graceless abandon he never quite reaches while Sebastian is watching. 

And as Kurt had come, face twisted and unconsciously beautiful, he’d groaned, _”Fuck, Sebastian...”_ , arms straining with the force of stuffing himself hard and fast and brutal. Alone and getting himself off and he was still thinking about Sebastian inside of him. 

Just thinking about it now tempts Sebastian to kick Finn out so he can wack it at his desk. 

Instead, he continues watching Kurt read his Vanity Fair. The mic is powerful enough to pick up the sound of Kurt snorting softly as he reads, one eyebrow up. Which Sebastian will never admit to anyone is terribly endearing. 

Eventually Kurt flaps the magazine closed on the bedside table with an exaggerated sigh. Pulls out his phone, looks at it, probably checking for a text from Sebastian. Puts it on the table too.

“Did he tell you how long I am to be imprisoned for?” Kurt’s voice comes over the mic high and clear, imperious. 

If there are distribution issues, or if Sebastian has to meet with the guys from New York, or if Connor is being...unpredictable, Sebastian makes sure Kurt stays at his design studio, under guard and among witnesses. Safety and an alibi and Kurt doesn’t mind since he’s a little workaholic anyways. 

Keeping him locked in the penthouse is rare. Sequestered to one room, rarer still. But it was the best way to observe Karofsky and Kurt without detection. 

“Nope.” Karofsky’s reply is clipped and uninterested.

Sebastian waits for a few seconds, in case there is more. He raises his eyebrows and looks back at Finn. 

“Yeah, Dave is completely out of line. He should have addressed Kurt as ‘Mr. Hummel’,” he remarks. 

Finn grimaces. “Look, Boss, even if you never heard Karofsky say anything mean, you got to admit, he’s totally creepy around Kurt.” 

“As much as I care about your brother’s well-being, I can’t say my interest delves so deep as to observe and document every interaction he has with other men,” Sebastian responds dryly. 

“Really? You never noticed the staring? I swear, he looks at Kurt like, all the time. With this _look_.” 

Finn demonstrates Karofsky’s _look_ and his impression isn’t far off from Finn’s own face when he’s looking at a tray of shrimp appetizers. 

“See, he’s doing it as we speak.” Finn leans into Sebastian’s space and puts a fingerprint on the screen over the small figure of Karofsky. Sebastian hmmms critically. Sure Karofsky is facing Kurt, but all they can really see is the top of his prematurely balding head. 

“Finn, tell me what Kurt is wearing right now.” 

Finn squints at the laptop screen. “Uh, like, leather pants and big boots...and I think his shirt is sparkly? Or maybe those are studs. Whatever, I would be afraid to touch it, it might be sharp,” he jokes.

Sebastian strains for patience. “Uh huh. And don’t you think that warrants staring? Don’t you think Kurt attracts stares from pretty much every human being he encounters?” 

“Dude, that’s kind of harsh. He’s _your_ boyfriend.”

Sebastian rolls his eyes, turns back to the laptop. On the screen Kurt is up and pacing next to his side of the bed, studs on his shirt glinting in the light as he moves. Sebastian realizes that he may have inadvertently found some evidence for Finn’s argument in calling attention to Kurt’s clothes. 

Normally, Kurt would be out of his statement pieces and into comfortable, soft lounge wear by now. Loose yoga pants that hug his hips, scoop-necked cotton t-shirts with too-long sleeves hanging over his wrists. Clean and touchable like kitten fur when he winds around Sebastian, tugging at the knot of Sebastian’s tie. 

And the boots...the boots are huge and black and laced to the knee. Kurt does not allow outside shoes in the residential side of the penthouse, thanks to his mild germaphobia. But there: gleam from the polished toe of Karofsky’s leather shoes. If it was any other bodyguard, Kurt would have bullied them into the indignity of stocking feet within his bedroom. What would have stopped Kurt? Was he wearing his own shit-kickers as some sort of defensive message? 

Sebastian feels annoyance with himself. He trusts his instincts to pick up the subtle clues, put the pieces together, a sixth sense as it were. It’s served him well in the past. Walking away from a drop point because a street is just a little too busy. Withholding a bribe to a calm, reliable informant because their collar is dirty with nervous sweat. And maybe it’s because he’s so often underestimated for being a faggot, but Sebastian underestimates _no one_ , regardless of sex, origin or socio economic position. Which means he has no problem with shooting kindly old Filipino women, and is alive today because of it.

It’s washing over him now, that sense of _not right_. Kurt’s crossed arms, his precise steps. Why wouldn’t he go change, curl up on the bed, turn on the TV, and ignore Karofsky? 

Kurt could just be worried about Sebastian’s silence. Sebastian eliminates the possibility by pulling his phone from his inner jacket pocket and darting off a quick text. 

[6:28PM] To Kurt: _Hang tight, pyt. Should be finished up in a couple hours._

On the screen, Kurt’s phone tings and Kurt practically throws himself at it. He reads the text, thumbnail between his teeth. To Sebastian’s astonishment, he replies with a lie. 

[6:29PM] To Sebastian: _NP, just getting ready for bed early. Good excuse to catch up on my beauty sleep. Be safe._

Sebastian swivels back around to Finn as Kurt drops his phone again and resumes pacing.

“Finn. You seem to have all the answers here. Why would Kurt tell me he’s going to sleep now when he’s fully dressed and obviously wide awake?” 

Finn blanches a bit. He won’t be joining Mensa in his lifetime, but he is smart enough to fear the need to tell his boss something Sebastian won’t like hearing. 

“Uh, well, this kind of proves it. Kurt doesn’t want you to know how creepy he thinks Karofsky is, so he’s acting all casual and stuff, maybe.” 

“And why wouldn’t Kurt just tell me if he thinks Dave is ‘creepy’?”

Finn snorts. “Come on, Boss. Give Kurt a little more credit than that.” 

“What do you mean?” Sebastian replies carefully, and the smirk falls off Finn’s face. 

“It’s just that, you know, Kurt knows that he couldn’t say something without you checking it out. And, you know, he doesn’t like your... _business_ side.” 

“So he’s protecting Dave,” Sebastian confirms. 

“Yeah, I guess. Kurt’s just that kind of guy, you know? He doesn’t take a lot of shit from people, but he’d take it if it saved a guy from getting his legs broken.” 

“But you’re okay with Dave getting heat for this?” 

“I don’t want that asshole near my brother anymore.” Finn’s face hardens. “So yeah, I guess I am.”

Yes, Finn has held his value. Trustworthy with small tasks, unassuming caliber, craves approval. Would hamstring a colleague to protect even Kurt’s delicate feelings. 

_Kurt._ Kurt, Kurt, Kurt. Sebastian scans his memories, tries to gather his own evidence that Kurt would feel anything but neutral disinterest towards Karofsky. But Kurt is good. Not a single clue springs to mind. Aside from Finn and a few others, Kurt reigns in his natural good humor around Sebastian’s crew. Is gracious and not unkind, but knows that to command the respect he deserves as Sebastian’s lover, he can’t do it by charming men who have been conditioned to hate fags since birth. So he’s a little cold. Princely. Sebastian likes it. 

Kurt channels his inner royalty as he stops and faces Karofsky, who is still standing by the door on the other side of the bed. 

“Can I at least wait in my office? Why does it have to be here? I have projects I could be working on.”

Karofsky doesn’t reply right away, and Sebastian isn’t sure, but it looks like he’s smirking at Kurt. He takes the time to tug each of his cuffs straight under his sports coat. Sebastian narrows his eyes. It’s deliberate. Karofsky is flaunting his control over the situation. 

“Boss says you have to stay in this room. Didn’t say why. So why don’t you sit down, Princess.” 

Sebastian’s eyebrows jump. 

“See! See! I told you! If he thinks no one is watching, he’s a total scumbag!” Finn is jabbing at the screen.

“Shhh!” Sebastian hisses, pushing Finn’s arm away, ears open for Kurt’s reply.

But Kurt ignores the name-calling, like, like he’s _unimpressed_ with the effort. Used to the treatment. 

“Well, can you go and get my computer then please? And a couple of binders I need? I’ll tell you which ones.” 

“What the fuck do I look like, your personal assistant? Your ball gowns will have to wait, lady-lips.” 

“Oh, for the love of...don’t you have a single self-preservation bone in that chunky body of yours? Get away from the goddamn door, Karofsky. You know there’s surveillance out there. If you’re going to sexually harass me then at least do it out of range of Sebastian’s big brother overkill.” 

Carefully, without taking his eyes away from the screen, Sebastian shrugs out of his suit jacket. He’s suddenly very, very hot. He drapes it over the desk.

“No, thanks. I’ll just stay right here. Don’t want you getting any ideas.” 

“Yes, it’s certainly _me_ you have to worry about,” Kurt says sarcastically, pointing a melodramatic finger at his own chest. “You’re right; please stay by the door and keep your lips away from my face.” 

“What the...” Finn says incredulously behind Sebastian. Sebastian jerks a hand up for silence. 

What the hell would prompt Kurt to make such a specific request? For Karofsky to keep his _lips_ away from Kurt’s _face_? The mere thought of Karofsky’s big dumpy face near Kurt’s is enough to make Sebastian clench his jaw so tight that it sends ringing spikes of pain to his head. Kurt, with his sweet, achingly genuine smiles. His smartass, chippy wit. Sebastian’s lifeboat in the heaving tide of the Smythe family empire. Touched, _befouled_ , by the likes of Karofsky. Karofsky, who must be the stupidest man in Chicago to take such a ridiculous risk. Must think he’s some hot shit to so blatantly disrespect Sebastian. To think that he’s worth anything more than a big fleshy bullet shield for Kurt.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, lady,” Karofsky says, and his voice is strained, gruff.

“Oh? Going the denial route, are we? That’s healthy,” Kurt snaps. He turns away from Karofsky and bows his head, touching his lower lip with two fingers, tapping it for a moment in thought. Then he turns back around.

“You know, Karofsky...”

“What?” Karofsky snaps. 

“...If you want to talk about it, I’m willing to listen. I know how lonely and isolating coming to terms with your sexuality can be. How confusing it can seem. I’ve been there and-”

“Shut _up_. Just shut up. You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Karofsky cuts through the air with his hand, advancing on the bed a few steps. Kurt doesn’t move. Sebastian’s chair arms creak under the pressure of his grip.

His sweet, empathetic Kurt. All rationality and compassion, like sometimes he forgets that he’s the lover of the second-in-command of the most powerful Irish family in North America. That he doesn’t need to waste half a breath on two-faced schemers like Dave Karofsky. Maybe that’s why Sebastian loves him so much, trusts him so much. Because no matter how lavish the life Sebastian gives Kurt, he’ll always have two feet on the ground. He’ll always _want_ to care. 

“Um, actually, I know _exactly_ what I’m talking about. You don’t have to do this alone, Karofsky.” Kurt pauses, licks his lips. It’s hard to tell, but it looks like Karofsky is just watching Kurt, rapt, his jaw clenching. Like Kurt is a steak dinner and Karofsky is a starving man. “You can choose to be with people who accept you for who you are-”

“I said _shut up_ , don’t make me shut you up.”

Finn growls behind him.

Kurt leans one knee against the bed, trying to appear unperturbed. But there it is: his booted foot jiggling in the air. He does the same thing when watching the American Idol finale, or when Connor Smythe is in the penthouse, or when he knows Sebastian is lying to him. He’s anxious, and he’s trying to hide it.

“Don’t even joke. I will call Sebastian right now. Tell him about what you did.” 

What he did. Sebastian jerkily unbuttons the sleeves of his bespoke shirt. Rolls them to his elbows as he watches. 

Now it’s Karofsky’s turn to snort skeptically. “No you won’t, lady.” 

Kurt puts both hands on the bed, leans forward in what he probably thinks is a menacing way. “ _Try me_ ,” he says meticulously. 

“You know what I think?” Karofsky asks, taking another step towards the bed. 

“You think now? Don’t pull anything,” Kurt quips. Karofsky just smiles knowingly.

“I think you like it. I think you’ve never gone whining to Sebastian because you want this. You want _me_ , you little cocksucker.”

Kurt is seemingly nonplussed. He does, however, recross his arms. 

“Hmmmm, interesting theory, Karofsky. Or maybe I just need you and your friends down at the Bear Cave to model a line of husky-sized leather wear I’m putting together.” 

Finn snorts despite himself.

“Listen to yourself, imagining me half naked...you’re a sick fuck, lady.” Karofsky takes another step towards the bed. Kurt takes his knee off of it and matches a step back. 

Finn puts a hand on the back of Sebastian’s chair, leaning closer to the screen, as though he can step through it and between Kurt and Karofsky. Sebastian spares a glance at his face; it’s a rictus of disgust and anger.

“I’m not vomiting, so I couldn’t possibly be imagining you naked,” Kurt shoots back, chin up. Karofsky comes closer still, smooth and predatorial for such a beast of a man. Making short work of their spacious bedroom, turning it into a cage with his advance, cocky and controlling.

“Yeahhh,” Karofsky drags the word out, his ugly paw of a hand reaching down to grab his cock and balls through his pants, hefting them at Kurt. Such a dirty, crass gesture, at _Kurt_ , who is the epitome of sleek, primal sexiness. “You’re definitely gagging for it.”

Kurt flinches hard. 

“Boss, _please_ ,” Finn whispers behind Sebastian, horrified. Seven, maybe eight more steps and Karofsky will be around the bed.

“Go,” Sebastian tells Finn, and stands up himself, loosening the 9mm in his concealed holster. 

Finn shoots out of the office, running big and noisy across the penthouse. Sebastian follows him more slowly; regular, even steps.

Sebastian forces himself to keep the steady pace past their elevator lobby, past their big living room and modern open-concept kitchen. Down the hall and into their private wing, with the view down the canal and out to the lake; all gorgeously decorated and thoughtfully laid out with Kurt’s tasteful direction. Pushes open the slack doors to their bedroom, having swung back closed after Finn kicked them in.

“Hudson, what the fuck?” Karofsky is grunting, on his knees, Finn’s Beretta muzzled hard to his temple.

Karofsky trails off as Sebastian walks past him. Sebastian hardly spares him a look, goes straight to Kurt, who has himself pressed against the wall next to the closet door, eyes inhumanly huge and trained on Sebastian. 

“He had his hands on Kurt, Boss. Was grabbing his arms,” Finn spits, and Karofsky has the good sense to strangle out a whimper of fear.

Sure enough, Kurt’s shirt is mussed, coming untucked on one side, the collar skewed. And there, peeking out from under his arms, scallops of sweat stains on the dark fabric. Karofsky made Kurt sweat. There shouldn’t be a human on earth allowed to intimidate Kurt, let alone someone like _Karofsky_.

Sebastian smooths out his shirt, down over Kurt’s slim sides, re-tucks. Kurt lets him, frozen with shock, only a slight tremor in his hands. He kisses Kurt’s face; his cheek, his jaw. Kurt lets him, Kurt’s eyes darting, dismayed, between Sebastian’s, breathing short and fast. 

Satisfied that Kurt is put back together, Sebastian pulls a blade from his pocket and snicks it open with a practiced flick. It’s his favorite; mother of pearl handle, deadly sharp. Offers it to Kurt, handle first. 

“Cut off his fingers for touching you. Cut out his eyes for looking at you.”

Kurt sucks in a horrified breath to match Karofsky’s. 

“No. No! Jesus, Sebastian, put that away. Just, just let him go, okay?” Kurt blinks and babbles in a rush, as though hurtling back into this sick reality. He grabs Sebastian’s forearms, pushes down at them, trying to get the knife away from himself. “Baby, _please_ , he’s done, obviously. Please don’t do this. He’s not worth it.” 

“Tell me what he did to you.” 

“What do you mean?” Fuck, Kurt is a good liar. Face unflinching, guilelessness like an innocent child. 

“Why, Kurt, would you ask him to keep his _lips_ away from your _face_?”

“Ah. You heard that.” 

Kurt looks quickly around the room for the camera, but it’s well-concealed in the crown molding above his head. He closes his eyes, and when he opens them again they’re fever-bright, shining with tears. “So you set me up as…as bait? Jesus, Seb. Jesus.”

“Had to make sure, didn’t I? This was a trial and I am the judge. And I am the one who deals the justice. You don’t think he earned his punishment?” 

Karofsky whimpers behind him and then grunts as though Finn has given him a kick. Kurt looks away to the side, presenting his flushed-pink cheek.

Sebastian kisses his turned face, smoothes his hands over Kurt’s shoulders. They look solid due to Kurt’s impeccable posture, but they’re delicate under Sebastian’s hands, like wings.

“Tell me what happened. Tell me everything.”

“Seb…it doesn’t matter. It won’t make any difference.”

“Talk, Kurt.”

Kurt looks at Karofsky, on his knees, Finn’s gun shoved in his temple. Like he’s forcing himself to, like he needs penance for what he’s about to say.

“Hey, hey, look at me,” Sebastian tells him, gently turning Kurt’s face by his proud chin. “You don’t owe him anything, especially not your protection. He touched you, god, he fucking _touched you_.” 

A flash of fear in Kurt’s eyes and Sebastian forces himself to take a deep breath. He’s not going to take one heartbeat of his rage out on Kurt.

“Now. Tell me what he did.”

“It doesn’t matter baby, it’s over, you know that he broke your trust, that’s bad enough. The rest just doesn’t matter.”

Sebastian purses his lips. “Tell me, or I’ll make _him_ confess.”

“Oh, Seb. Please...don’t...,” Kurt pleads, a trembling tear breaking free and streaking down his hectic cheek. Sebastian’s fingers tighten on his chin. Kurt is being pretty fucking protective of a thug who could have very well ripped his asshole two sizes larger had Sebastian not been watching. But Sebastian won’t question him. Someone in this relationship needs to demonstrate a little trust.

“Don’t call my bluff on this one, Kurt. You won’t like it.”

“Okay, alright,” Kurt wrenches his face out of Sebastian’s grip, his mouth moving like he’s just eaten soap. Sebastian waits.

“…he kissed me. On the lips. Just once.”

Sebastian turns, leaving Kurt to slide down the wall, defeated. His flush turning sickly and translucent, mouth caught in a sob. But he’s still perfect to Sebastian. Will always be perfect.

Karofsky is shaking under the angry press of Finn’s gun. 

“That true?”

Karofsky doesn’t have to answer. His terrified, animalistic moan, and the spread of urine across the lap of his pants are answer enough. The scent of it is sharp and piercing, contaminating the sweet, warm smell of Sebastian’s home.

Sebastian holds out his hand to Finn for his Beretta. Sebastian’s gun is too small. He takes the pistol by the barrell and in the same motion, smoothy backhands Karofsky across the face with the handle, hardly pausing at the top of his swing to hit Karofsky again, throwing him off his knees. 

Kurt and Karofsky scream at the same time, Karofsky through the bloody splinters of his broken teeth.

Sebastian pitches forward, Kurt a heavy weight on his back as he scrambles to pull Sebastian’s arm back. 

“No baby, please stop, oh god, oh god!”

His poor little Kurt. So sheltered, so removed from the consequences of the Smythe family operations. Sebastian would have liked to keep it that way. 

“Finn, hold him,” Sebastian orders, shrugging Kurt off.

“Finn Hudson don’t you _dare_ \- ah!” 

But Finn has him, Kurt light and narrow in Finn’s inescapable hold, arms clamped around Kurt’s chest. 

Karofsky tries to crawl away, as though he has anywhere to go, dripping fluorescent drops of red on the pristine white rug. He’s a big man, but he looks like the coward he is, pants wet and face smashed, slithering for escape. 

Sebastian would like to kill him right here, feels the blood lust calling, his arms cramping with the need to beat Karofsky into an unrecognizable puddle of flesh and blood.

But he needs to be smart. Needs to use this opportunity to set an example. Needs to ensure that no other threat to Kurt exists. 

So he grabs Karofsky’s arm, holding it straight above the prone man, and kicks a clean but incapacitating compound fracture to his forearm. 

Karofsky howls and sobs and struggles weakly to free his arm. He’s bigger and possibly stronger than Finn and Sebastian combined, but he shouldn’t be a problem now. 

“Shut up or I’ll break the other one too,” Sebastian tells him calmly, dropping the arm so Karofsky can cradle it, blood dripping out of his sleeve. Karofsky moans through his clamped lips, but he doesn’t try to crawl off again. 

When Sebastian turns back to them, Kurt is curled into Finn’s chest, hiding his face and breathing too fast. 

The sight makes Sebastian want to break the arm Finn has around Kurt too. 

“Let him go.” His voice is cold, unrecognizable to his own ears. Finn is already stepping away from Kurt, cautious, eyes on the blood misting Sebastian’s shirt. The blood of the last man to touch Kurt. 

“Take this sack of shit down to the car. Call the guys. All of them, except Micky and Declan; they should be on their way to Atlantic City. I want everyone at bay 14 by eight o’clock. Got it?” 

Finn looks from Sebastian to Kurt and back to Sebastian. Licks his lips. 

“ _Got it?_ ” Sebastian asks again. He won’t ask a third time. 

“Yeah. Yeah, Sebastian, I got it.” Finn hauls Karofsky up by his good arm, making Karofsky cry out and stumble after him. 

“Tie him up good.” 

“Okay, Boss.”

“And Finn?”

“Yeah, Boss?” 

“Make it theatrical.” 

Finn just nods and adjusts his grip on Karofsky, pulling him out of the bedroom, trailing blood. He knows what it means. Karofsky on a chair in the middle of the empty manufacturing floor, hot spotlights trained on him. Plenty of room for Sebastian to orchestrate an example for the rest of the crew. He’s harsh, but fair. He won’t make Karofsky suffer needlessly. That said, Karofsky _needs_ to suffer. 

“Don’t touch me, his blood, oh god, the blood,” Kurt is panting, wriggling away and Sebastian didn’t even realise he’d approached Kurt, his hands digging into Kurt’s hair, trying to drag his mouth up. Soft and trembling, pink lips that someone else had kissed, that _Karofsky_ had kissed. 

“Shut up,” he growls, letting go to pop the buttons on his own shirt with a hard yank, shaking it off of his arms.

“Come here.” Sebastian wraps a hand around the back of Kurt’s neck, drills an inarguable arm around his waist. Kurt turns his face away with a hiss. 

“No, what are you doing, how can you even- after- God, Seb.”

Sebastian speaks into Kurt’s cheek like it’s a telephone receiver, low and close. 

“I’ll tell you what I’m thinking about. I’m thinking about that jackass kissing you, about him _hurting_ you. And you saying _nothing_.”

This close, Kurt’s eyes are just a blur, but Sebastian still sees the sweep of his lashes as they wince. 

“I...I-I _couldn’t_ , I knew what you would do-”

“Goddamn it, Kurt, you should have told me,” he growls. 

Kurt opens his eyes. Pushes gently at Sebastian, not to dislodge him, but to put him just far enough away so they can look at each other with no misinterpretation.

“ _You should have known._ ” 

Kurt’s whisper cuts to the core of Sebastian’s throbbing, aching rage. He should have. He should have picked up on it. His primary responsibility is to be the smartest, most observant man in any given room. He may as well have offered up Kurt to Karofsky himself. 

Sebastian hears a growl; it must be him.

Kurt only struggles for a moment, his lovely lips twisted into an angry snarl under Sebastian’s. But soon enough he’s opening up, letting Sebastian into his mouth, his arms, a thigh between his legs.

Sebastian will fuck him later, when there is time to get Kurt good and lubed, open and raw around Sebastian’s fingers, curving his ass up and pulling his own cheeks open, whining for Sebastian to reach deeper, for Sebastian’s cock.

For now, Sebastian keeps their faces tied together with a scouring kiss, uses one hand to dig both their cocks free, Kurt just as hard as he is, cursing and whimpering and dragging ragged marks into Sebastian’s shoulders with his nails. 

His hand on them both, fast and too rough and a good match for the sickening, frantic anger that makes his whole body quiver. Kurt claws closer, practically pulling himself up onto Sebastian, fueling the frantic storm of _now, more, mine_ , his gasps and breaths like the fast beat of music, playing them to the end.

He pushes Kurt up the wall, slippery and snarling, teeth on his neck. He gives up trying to jack them off, it’s too precise, too much coordination required for the swirling, aching need he has to push into Kurt, to turn him inside out and swallow him. To cover him like a second skin, protected and safe and part of Sebastian forever. 

Kurt moves like he wants it too, arms trying to scrabble Sebastian closer again and again, legs tangling tight around his thighs, mouth open on his jaw as Kurt comes in jerky, uncontrolled spasms, hitched screams that vibrate down to Sebastian’s galloping heart. 

When he comes, he shoves Kurt down to his knees between the wall and Sebastian’s body. Drags the head of his dick across Kurt’s mouth, his wet cheek. Pushes Kurt’s face right into his balls, marking him like a dog. Kurt lets him, eyes glittering, knowing slits, tongue out to taste, hands bruising the back of Sebastian’s thighs. 

He comes all over Kurt’s face and neck and chest with long, shouting groans. Hardly needs to jack his dick; comes from just the sight of Kurt keening and trying to nose into his groin. Falls down to his own knees to smear it with his hands, lick it from Kurt’s jaw, push it into his mouth.

“ _I’m sorry_ ,” he murmurs. The words are quiet, but still jarring, since he can’t remember the last time he said them. Kurt exhales, shaky and long. Strokes Sebastian’s nape and pulls his head down, holds Sebastian’s head to to his throat.

Long after they’re both stiff with dried come, legs asleep, Kurt hauls him up and herds Sebastian into their bathroom, closes the door to block out the lingering smells of blood and piss. He undresses them both, putting Sebastian into the shower with small pushes and gentle touches. Washes them both down, scrubbing at the blood dried to Sebastian’s hands with a resigned face. Like he knows it’s in vain; Sebastian’s hands will have far more blood on them by the end of the day. And the next day. And the day after that. And all the days. 

Under the quiet thunder of spray, emboldened, Sebastian whispers, “I love you. So much. With everything I have.” Wraps his arms around Kurt, palms in the sweet curve of his lower back. “Tell me you love me.”

Kurt kisses his wet neck, and Sebastian can feel his sigh. 

“I...I believe in you. I believe that you can redeem yourself. Anytime. Today - now.”

“But you don’t love me.”

“Oh Sebastian, how could I love someone who doesn’t think twice about murdering a man for just _touching me_ ,” he replies, the disappointment in his voice louder than the words, echoing around the glass and marble shower. 

“I’ll kill anyone who touches you,” Sebastian promises.

Kurt steps back, out of his arms, away from the warm spray. Palms the shower wall behind him, as though channeling strength through the stone.

“Sebastian, baby, you don’t have to live this life. You can leave. You’re so smart, you can do anything you want.” His perfect summer day eyes are huge and sincere. His shaking hands come up to cup Sebastian’s face, cool now. “And I’ll come with you. Or I’ll find you. Whatever we have to do. There are seven billion people in the world, we can be just two of them. Please baby, please.” 

Even if Sebastian wanted to walk away from it all, the family would find him, eventually. There wouldn’t be a corner of the earth dark enough to hide him from Connor Smythe’s Irish wrath. And Kurt...Kurt wouldn’t have the incentive of his own survival to stay. To stay with Sebastian. 

Kurt would disappear like a drop in the ocean, and Sebastian wouldn’t have the family’s resources to find him. _Kurt._ So smart. So beautifully smart. With his acting skills, his determination, his patience, he’d be a strong asset to the family business. If Sebastian wasn’t just _that_ much smarter than his lover, he’d be convinced. He’d have Kurt packing for them already. 

No, Sebastian Smythe was born into just one destiny, and though it might be short and bloody and unpredictable, in most definitely includes Kurt Hummel. 

Sebastian will stay, and Kurt will stay with with him. Because he has to. And even if he never says the words out loud, Sebastian will survive off of the love in Kurt’s sweet, unconscious touches, in the way he moans Sebastian’s name. He will accept whatever Kurt gives him...and then take the rest. 

“It’s too risky, babe. It wouldn’t be a good life for you, not like this one. You’d never be safe, and you can’t imagine what they’d do to us if we got caught.” 

Kurt doesn’t argue; does Sebastian the courtesy of conceding. They both know begging is in vain, and Kurt has too much respect for himself to continue the innocent act. He drops his head and hides his eyes, his hands falling from Sebastian’s face, lets his body slump against Sebastian’s in defeat. Sebastian gathers him in closer, fits Kurt to himself with ease. 

“It’s you and me, babe. For better or for worse. It’ll always be you and me.”

Kurt is still in his arms.


End file.
